


Drinking Like the World was Gonna End (It Didn't)

by KimliPan



Category: Merlin (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Drinking, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:17:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimliPan/pseuds/KimliPan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin would have thought he'd meet someone like Loki in rather less mundane circumstances, but it turns out even immortal sorcerers sometimes literally just bump into each other. They spend a night together, and Loki may or may not have interest in Merlin's magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drinking Like the World was Gonna End (It Didn't)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sparklyslug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklyslug/gifts).



> I'm not even gonna apologize for this crossover, it was put in my head and I couldn't get it gone! This is for [slylilgoblin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/slylilgoblin) who encouraged me to actually post it. My hero~

Merlin would have thought he'd meet someone like Loki in rather less mundane circumstances, but it turns out even immortal sorcerers sometimes literally just bump into each other.

Merlin mutters some kind of apology, "sorry, my fault," as he continues past, but the man presses it with a tone and Merlin looks back.

"Oh, no, _entirely_ mine," he says with proper gentlemanly manners and a thick coating of sarcasm. Malicious.

He recognizes the man's face immediately – it's not one many people are likely to forget. Long, angular – angry. News broadcasts, magazines, billboards, they all gave this man’s eyes a dangerous, manic glint, but to Merlin, that voice and those eyes, he just seems quite plainly childish. Mundane.

He should challenge him, but the passion in the Merlin who fought for right and wrong, it’s long since run out.

"Make it up to me, then," he says instead, shifting his weight to face the man who tried to dominate an entire planet. How close could he have gotten truly, if even then Arthur still hadn’t risen? No real threat, he thought, as he always let himself believe.

Loki takes Merlin in, appraises him, but Merlin is too old to be shy from some stranger's audacity. He holds his back straight and watches Loki expectantly.

"You are bold," Loki says, and they go out for drinks.

 

The rules of Loki's magic are different from Merlin's. He doesn't follow the Old Religion or anything like it – rather, he seems to treat his magic as though it were fact, a simple matter of existence. Just as a tree grows from a seed, so can he make that man's mouth spew spiders.

Merlin stops the flow by muttering a few words, and Loki looks more irritated at his lack of awe than anything else. And he doesn't care about the old religion, but he does ask about the extent of Merlin's power. _So you can change the weather? For how long can you freeze time?_ Assessing, gauging, _how strong are you?_ and Merlin’s gut leaps with excitement. No one has asked these questions before with such keen interest or looked at him knowing what he was with such a hungry gaze.

Merlin chuckles and tells him, "If you're looking for an ally, you're mistaken."

The irritation deepens, but then Merlin sees it darken his eyes, kick up the corners of his lips. Merlin gives a small, petulant smirk in reply as if to say, _Yes, it’s a challenge,_ but it’s not – he just can’t deny that he loves the attention.

 

Loki’s fingers are long, his hands electric. They snake up Merlin’s shirt, the tickle of magic spreading over his skin well beyond their touch. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want more, but he hasn't had enough to drink yet; he still wants to be good. So he bats the hand away, only to feel it replaced by Loki's other.

The waitress returns with their drinks and Merlin has both.

 

They're just outside on the street when they kiss. Merlin is sloppy, but he has a god in his hands and liquor in his veins. It's a power rush.

Loki obliges as Merlin presses his body hard against him, not only wanting but needing _that_ kind of companionship, the touch of someone who, like him, is different and someone who, like him, suffers from eternal loneliness – a hunger for acknowledgement, approval, love. It isn't often he can sate any of these, and he doesn't even care which of the first two he may or may not be getting. He just knows it's definitely not the third.

"They call you Emrys," Loki hisses in his ear, and Merlin shudders at the sound of that name which he knows he hasn't said tonight but he's too far gone to care.

"They call me many things," he forces out, the words stumbling in his throat while he presses his mouth to the taut, pale expanse of Loki's neck.

It isn't about the sex.

It's truly not, but the sex is the closest he can get to _feeling_ something, anything, for anyone at all.

Much to his dismay, Loki pulls them apart and leads them to the Mandarin Oriental.

 

Merlin wakes up in a foreign bed with less regret than he thought he might. It's been a long time since he drank so much and even longer since he's lain with anyone, but last night offered him something he hadn't known for a long time: Someone who understands.

And while he's under no illusion that this Loki harbors any particular desire for repentance, Merlin doesn't care.

He can't care, even if he wanted to.

He kicks his legs over the side of the bed. The carpet is plush between his toes – soft, like real fur – and he looks around their indulgent royal suite which Merlin, drunk and lonely and thirsty for any kind of touch, paid for with forged cash, Loki whispering in his ear.

_It felt better drunk_ , he thinks as he makes his way to the kitchenette to get a drink of water, but he's halted by the tug of magic wrapped around his waist. Green, dark. Merlin admired it last night, but his hangover makes him feel very differently so he gives in with a sigh and falls back on the bed.

"No one gave you permission to rise," Loki says idly with his back to Merlin, eyes still closed.

Merlin folds his fingers over his stomach and, lying on his back, gives a little nod. That much is true, if also irrelevant. Still, he contents himself on top of the blankets and heaves a tired breath. Truth be told, he doesn't have enough energy to do much anyway.

Much of Loki's situation – his birthright, his determination, his drive – it reminded him very much of Morgana, but this spoiled, bratty pettiness, even the sense of entitlement, that was all Arthur.

“Your efforts are wasted on Midgard,” Loki sighs as he rolls onto his back and nudges Merlin with his foot.

The offer is tempting.

Merlin rolls onto his side and props his head up to look at Loki thinking his alleged silver tongue is little more than the ordinary powers of persuasion. He doesn’t feel particularly drawn in by much else than what they have in common, especially not hungover – and frankly, Loki is not very charming. Merlin knows his efforts are not wasted, that his time will come.

Yet, somehow, he is swayed.

He thinks on it silently, and Loki is impatient.

“Right, then,” he says finally. With as long as he’s waited for his destiny, he doubts it’s coming any time soon. And besides, what better way to be prepared for Arthur’s return than to have the knowledge of other worlds? “You get Emrys, and I learn your magic.”

Smug, Loki rolls back over to sleep. “Neither of us will be disappointed, I suspect.”


End file.
